“But Blondie,” the rotund fellow persisted, “I assure you it would be wonderful.”

“For who?” Blondel replied with a tolerant grin. She patted his hand firmly before moving on to another patron.

I scanned the rest of the crowd, a scant lot not unusual for the daylight hours, and turned back to take a seat at the bar. A glass of my midday usual was already in place before mc. I reached in my purse for a silver piece, but my hostess wouldn’t hear of it.

“I’m still working off my tab from last week,” Blonde! replied with a coy wink. “At this rate I’ll be paying it offal! year. I wish you’d consider some of my more expensive services.”

“I’m in no hurry,” I answered slyly. “I like to take my time.”

“I bet you do.”

Lowering my voice I asked, “What’s the price on information these days?”

“Reasonable.”

“What can you tell me about the crowd that used to hang out at the Hanging Lantern?”

Blondel furrowed her brow for a moment. “Not much,” she answered. “They did a brisk trade catering to the crowd’s wishes. More than a few of their clientele really hated it when they closed down even if it was rumored to be a den of demonic dopplegangers.”

“Any word of the survivors regrouping and re-establishing themselves elsewhere in the trade?”

“Not that I’ve heard. Things have been awfully quiet lately. Word in the alleyways is that the Unseen has left town in favor of greener pastures, and speaking of greener pastures have you considered-”

Blondel’s proposition was rudely interrupted by the boisterous boom of the thespian lout Pisspot.

“You want to know about dopplegangers, my good fellow,” the bag of wind announced to the world (or at least those who were within earshot in the room around us). “Well, allow me to be of service. A drink for me, wench, and put it on his tab.”

Blondel looked at me in gentle amusement. I nodded and she went about serving the fellow who had situated himself beside me, giving me a quick and hearty hale-and-well-met pat on the back.

The drink arrived, he drained it, and beckoned for me to draw closer as he intended to speak in a hushed tone. Secrecy is always best maintained by whispering, I thought, especially when you have already announced the subject matter to everyone in the room.

“I am an expert on dopplegangers,” he whispered pompously.

I nodded, and said, “So rye heard. You’re an associate of that Volo fellow. Pisspot’s your name.”

“That’s Passepout,” he corrected, “son of Idle and Catinflas, circumtraveler of Toni, and scourge of all dopplegangers. What would you like to know? Do you want to hear about how I uncovered a plot to replace Khelben or how I saved the heir of one of the leading families of Cormyr or how I single-handedly secured the balance of power in the Moonsea region? It’s all very hush hush you see.”

“What can you tell me about dopplegangers in Waterdeep…lately?” I inquired.

“Another drink?” he requested.

I nodded to Blondel who quickly accommodated him. The rotund fellow raised the tankard to his lips and replied, “Nothing, I’m afraid, but thanks for the refreshment. You are a gentlemen and a scholar.”

As he drained the tankard, Blondel quickly placed another in front of him, which he quaffed in similar fashion and immediately passed out.

“That settles that,” she announced, and then, pointing at the stout fellow who had just begun to snore, asked the crowd, “Know anyone looking to shanghai a crew member or two? He’ll be out for at least a day and a half, more than enough time to get persuasively out to sea.”

“I’ll send word if I hear of anyone,” I replied. “And you do the same if you hear anything new about the matters we discussed. You know how to get hold of me.”

I was swiftly back on the street and in search of information, the sound of two bouncers placing a rotund thespian in a holding sack quickly diminishing in the distance.

Word would be out in no time that I was on a doppleganger hunt. The loudmouthed Pisspot had seen to that. If I didn’t find them they would find me.

Either way I’d soon be facing Kitten’s killers.

Things didn’t move as swiftly as I had assumed.

Three days and six reports from my minions later and I was no closer to achieving my objective, and the hunger for vengeance began to consume my belly like day-old Baldur’s Gate rotgut.

Gross and Waters had both reported that the thing that was passing for Kitten seemed overly wary in her one-on-one encounters, as if she were always on her guard, but other than that nothing suspicious. (Gross postulated that it could be a “woman thing” and that she was just self-conscious.) As always I didn’t comment, just listened.

My patron sent a missive indicating that he and his associates were growing impatient, and that the fate of Faerun was probably hanging in the balance. What else was new? I had heard that all before and really didn’t care. They would get their information soon enough (and a few corpses as well, if I had my way) even if I had to beat it out of someone who looked like my best friend.

On the fourth day of my quest I almost ran into Kitten but quickly managed to remove myself from her presence before she had a chance to sense me. I’m not really sure how these doppleganger telepathic powers work, but I’m pretty sure I made it away clean. Waters included his observation of my near-miss in his daily report, but as per usual didn’t make any query about it.

A good minion doesn’t ask questions unless they are told to.

On the fifth day I received a missive from Blonde!. Someone wanted to see me. Concealing various bladed instruments on my person, I quickly set off for the rendezvous that had been arranged for me.

The meeting was set for an after-hours place a block over from the waterfront. Blondel’s missive had indicated that a well dressed fellow from the North had asked her about the Hanging Lantern and dopplegangers a night ago. A follower of synchronicity over coincidence, her feminine sixth sense told her that she should put him in touch with me.

The dockyard was my home turf and she knew I could take care of myself. I arrived at the meeting an hour early so as to have the advantage. I was about half an hour too late.

I realized this only when I felt the initial blow of a firm cudgel on the crest of my cranium. My adversaries had already laid claim to the advantage by arriving even earlier.

I came to a while later, lying on some cold and damp cellar floor, my wrists and ankles bound, Blondel and a nondescript gentleman standing over me.

“He’s coming around,” the unknown figure announced.

“It’s about time,” the creature that had become Blonde! answered. “Though I guess we really couldn’t have asked for a more cooperative opponent, walking right into our clutches and all. I probably would have let you go on living if’ you hadn’t posed a threat to our other associate.”

“The one posing as Nymara Scheiron,” I replied.

“Exactly. Your queries were getting in the way of her fulfilling her part of our mission, and our master was growing quite impatient. We never really feared that you would uncover the full extent of our plot since you had obviously chosen to settle the matters at hand before carrying out your patron’s wishes. Such arrogance and rage can only get in the way, and for what? A slim chance to avenge the death of a friend? A person of your abilities should have known better. But then again, if memory serves, experiences are the best teachers, and you seem to have forgotten most of yours. At this point I would like to add that it was quite refreshing to read such an uncluttered mind as yours.”